The Heat of Illegality
by EditionsOfYou
Summary: When hardboiled private detective Eiri Yuki is hired by a traumatised young singer Shuichi Shindou to retrieve some sensitive information, Yuki finds out that this may be the case that will lead him down a path that will expose shocking secrets , spur Yuki into an dangerous all-consuming obsession , and even force him to confront the mystery of his own dark past.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you for clicking on my fourth Gravitation fiction. This story is alternative universe setting, loosely based on the anime but there will be plot changes and re-interpretations of the characters for the purposes and tone of this story.

This story may touch upon subjects that may be triggers for readers: like homosexuality, sexual assault and abuse and sexual exploitation, mental illness, violence, psychiatric care, medicine, conflicted family dynamics, imbalances of power , suicidal thoughts,

As always, thank you for reading and feedback is very much valued and appreciated.

* * *

"Do you like ...pop music?" He asks me .

"Not particularly." I reply.

He takes a deep breath.

He's thin, small-statured, wearing oversized jeans and a ratty orange hoodie, his hands shoved deep in its front pocket. His hands are fumbling with something inside it. He looks anxious. Wan. He frequently looks around himself as if he expects someone to interupt us. Or like he's doing something he's not supposed to.

That isn't unusual. Considering the people I often get in here.

The boy takes down his hood and reveals a fresh looking face, and a shock of pink hair.

"My name is Shuichi Shindou and I'm a singer. " He finally says.

Taking another deep breath, he continues.

"It was a life long dream for me to form a pop group, and my passion ever since I could remember ... was singing. So my best friend and I started a band called **Bad Luck**. Our favorite band growing up was the group **Nittle Grasper**, so when we signed up to the very same label, NG- it was almost too good to be true. "

After a long pause. Shuichi speaks hollowly. "And it was ."

But with a name like **Bad Luck**, I wonder, what was he expecting.

I wait for him to continue.

He does in his own time.

Shuichi mumbles on, barely audible. " We ... later added a third member to our duo and our sound grew even better. Things... started to pick up for us even more. We were gaining interest and a devoted following , doing some endorsements and hearing some... really good feedback, including from the lead singer, and my idol from **Nittle Grasper, **Ryuichi Sakuma. He even wanted... to help me succeed- because he saw ...potenial in me. "

Shuichi takes out what hes been stowing in his hoodie front pocket.

Its a balled up paper.

He uncrumbles it slowly and smooths it out on the table top.

"These are some lyrics I wrote."

He hesitantly slides the paper forward toward me on the desk.

What do you think of them?" He asks timidly.

I take the paper . Read it.

I put it face down on the table.

I resist all that is in me to crumple it up again.

" Its the worst thing I ever read. " I say honestly.

Shuichi's eyes widen to an enormous level.

"But I'm a private detective. Lyrics aren't my forte, but they aren't yours ethier. " I light a cigarette. "But I can't see what yours could be. As evidenced from your writing, you know nothing. You have no talent."

The boy looks down, crestfallen.

"Good... I'm relieved to hear that." He whispers.

Odd response.

Odd like this entire meeting.

Shuichi asks me strangely. "...Have you been a private detective long Mr. Yuki?"

"Long enough." I grunt.

To someone who writes with so many clichés, I'll give the stereotypical response.

Long enough. Like smoking, I've done this job long enough, despite good sense, and everyone warning me against it. Done it long enough, to know I should quit before my luck runs out and the effects are irreversible.

And like smoking, I won't quit until it kills me.

" I ask because this is about ...sensitive information. " Shuichi cringes. "Have you... dealt with... similar cases before?"

"Every case is sensitive. " I tap my cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. "So yes. Discretion is my speciality."

"Okay." The boy says meekly. " For ...discretion, I'm ...willing to pay any price. Providing- I can afford it."

"There's no fixed price but most people find me affordable." I remind him."However I need to know what you're paying me for ."

"Ofcourse yes." He winces. " I'll ...get to the point then."

Shuichi takes several deep breaths, as if to coach himself.

With twitching hands, Shindou grabs out some magazines- teeny-bopper weekly publications from his backpack and throws it on my desk.

He points to a man on one of the covers.

"There are ...photographs- of me taken by ... this man. The lead singer of a rival band **Ask** who sings at the same label. His name is Taki Aizawa ." Shuichi whispers with a tortured expression." If these pictures were leaked, they could ...ruin my life."

Photographs I think: Could be of drug use, adulterous sexual liaisons. Worse possibly.

"When did this happen ?" I ask.

"A day and a half ago."

"And this Taki is blackmailing you with these photos he's taken. " I clarify.

"Yes. He is. Taki says he'll release them, unless I drop out of music business for good. "Shuichi trembles, pale.

"You want me to retrieve them for you."

"Yes."

"And then what?"

"Then what?" Shuichi utters. "Thats all I want ."

I say to him. "The problem may not just go away with the photographs, you understand ? "

Shuichi says nothing. Instead, he wraps his arms around himself, his countenance more frayed and hounded-looking then before.

"But I can do more than get back your photos ." I assert." I can get Taki Aizawa to stay away from you."

..."Even if he doesn't want to?" Shuichi asks in a small voice.

"Particulary if he doesn't want to. That's just an added service."

Shuichi shakes his head, arms still around himself. "It doesn't matter. Thats not what I want. I just can't have those photos out there, or hanging over my head."

I make the obvious inference. "So you can resume your career again."

"No, its bigger than that. And Taki will leave me alone... if I'm willing to give him what he wants...and I am. " As Shuichi's head bows, those pink locks obscure his face. "I'm going to quit the music business."

I say. "Bigger than that? I thought singing was your life's dream. Your passion. "

"Its not anymore. After what happened, I know it's not meant to be. It never was. And I don't feel anything in my heart to sing, and if there's nothing left there, why do it anymore? So you won't have to... read anymore of my bad lyrics Mr. Yuki. No one ever will. " Shuichi attempts a weak smile.

"That's a relief." I mutter.

The boy's head sinks lower and he slumps about three inches deeper into his chair.

For a long time he says nothing.

After saying that, I feel slightly guilty. Which was a rare emotion for me .

Its not a good emotion either. It's a liability.

"So ...can you help me Mr. Yuki?" Shuichi croaks. " Will you take my case?"

I take a long drag .

"Yes. I can. But once I retrieve these photo, what would you have me do with them?"

Shuichi suddenly looks up, his expression desperate.

"You have to destroy of them." Shuichi clasps his hands together." Every single last one of them and make sure no one ever sees them, or knows about them. Just...please... don't ever look at whats on them or develop them... if they aren't already developed already! Please! You have to promise me you won't look- I don't want anyone to see whats-"

Mid-sentence the boy chokes incoherently, and claws at his own chest. Then his hands clutch at the air , as if they are struggling as if trying to form something out of the ether.

Trying to collect himself, he looks everywhere in the room but at my face.

The minute his eyes lock with mine, Shuichi erupts into tears.

He collaspes forwards into his hands, and makes loud gut-wrenching noises.

The sounds of somebody losing it. Wailing and groaning. Gruelling sounds.

I stare at him and contemplate my options.

Part of me is tempted to tell Shuichi to get the hell out. That he's making a racket . That he's at the wrong office. That this kid should be at my brother in law's.

Then again, I have no idea what was contained in those photos, if this Shuichi isn't hiding misgivings of his own.

I'm not going to ask either.

"Yes I can promise you that." I say.

"Okay. Good. I'm s-so- s-sorry! So sorry. I don't know why this is happening- " Shuichi warbles into his hands, soaking his own sleeves. "I don't know why I'm crying. I haven't cried yet, I've been good and strong so far-so why did it have to happen here and now of all places?! "

I think: Maybe telling the kid he had no talent rode him too hard.

"Wait M-Mr. Yuki-" He moans. "Just give me a moment... for me... to pull it together..."

After that he bursts into another crying jag.

It takes longer than a moment.

For far too long ,Shuichi sits there in my offices and carries on, face down on my desk . Miserably. Like somebody's dying. Occasionally, he make noises that sound almost like words- "horrible" or "oh God" or something else, and raises his head to gasp for air. I see rivulets of tears run , through the gaps in his hands, dribble into the channels of his clenched teeth and to slick his contorted features.

Not only is the sight of this boy crying uncomfortable. It is hard to watch.

Which is also rare for me. As in my job, your base level of human sympathy is in short supply. You see a lot of tears. You cause them too.

I avert my gaze . I smoke my cigarette. I allow him time to compose himself.

When he doesn't- I impatiently grab a pack of tissues from my drawer and push it towards him.

Shuichi takes it and with it, mops his face up. He's quieted down, now sobbing silently.

"Done." I snap.

"Yeah. Sorry. Sorry. Part of the crying now is ... relief. That I know somebody... will help me with this ...That I don't have to worry about one thing at least. You will help me, will you? I was told you could." He burbles out, tears still dribbling down his chin.

"Yes.I'm good at what I do." I tell him. "And I'll take care of this matter for you. Do you have a number I can reach you at?

He sighs , wipes his blotchy face on his hoodie sleeve. "Do you have a pen ."

I give him what he asks for.

He takes the paper. The one with the lyrics, and he writes his number on the back of them.

"Here." Shuichi pushes it forward, still red-eyed. "You can reach me here."

"Alright. I'll call you when its done from an untraceable number. " I take the lyrics with his number on the back. "As for my fee, I'd like half the payment up front. The other half, when its the task's completed. "

"Do I have to write a check ?" Shuichi readily snatches for his backpack again. "Or can I pay in cash? "

I access him- the kid's vulnerable, in a bind, inexperienced, (One of the frist things he told me already told me he's willing to pay anything. Meaning: whatever on the photos must be bad). He's a rising star probably with some money off those gigs and endorsements.

I could probably name any number and make a killing - although one has to add in the risk factor of the case, assuming I don't wind up getting myself killed.

I tell him he can pay me cash, and how much.

Shuichi rummages through his backpack again.

I can see he's carrying alot of cash on him in a white envelope- a recent withdrawal.

What he's got, he shoves forward. I count it and its done.

"Thank you Mr. Yuki. I'll expect your call." He hurriedly stands and gathers his things , frantic to get out .

"Leave the magazines here." I tell him.

He does , and brings his hood back up over his pink hair.

I look out the window and see why.

Its raining pretty hard.

"And your lyrics ?" I call out as he nears the door.

"... My lyrics?" He asks me startled, as if hes already forgotten them.

"I can rewrite your phone number somewhere else." I hold the battered song up between my fingers. " So don't you want them back?"

I think: because I don't want them.

" No. I don't. Take them. Like I said: I don't need them anymore." Shuichi says with dismal determination. "I mean it when I said I was quiting. And like you said , they're no good and I have no talent, right Mr. Yuki?"

"I prefer just Yuki." I correct him.

He turns around to go.

Then I say towards his back. "Take care of yourself Shindou."

I never say that to anyone who leaves my office.

I figured if they had , they wouldn't find themselves in here to begin with.

He stops, as if considering how to reply.

..."You... take care too.. Yuki." Shuichi mumbles over his shoulder.

Then he's off.

I never hear that said to me either.


	2. Chapter 2

Afterwards, I have lunch.

A bottle of beer, some vending machine noodles from a family mart. Three cigarettes.

Then like a good workman, at the mart, I buy any relevant magazines I can find. I ash all over the pages as I force myself to look through these rags and the ones Shuichi left for research about Taki Aizawa and **Ask . **

I find nothing atypical about either of them.

**Ask: **Signed on about a year ago, released some hot tracks , growing in popularity, produced by so and so, rising through charts etc.

Taki Aizawa: Apparently Taki's a man who loves the camera, hogs the limelight. Barely lets his bandmates a word in edgewise during their interviews.

Reading them, I learn more than I would ever want to about the guy.

Taki has ambitions of seizing the pop-king Sakuma's throne and taking the pop-world by storm, he likes to mull on his past successes and preemptively brag about his future ones how he'll 'blow all our minds ' with his 'vision' and his 'artistic genius', although he's a bit of a self-confessed 'hot-head', who loves the 'ladies' , is a Libra, and his favorite color is neon yellow.

I find out a few things about **Bad Luck **too.

The addition of the third member , a prodigy teenage Fujisaki Suguru. Comparisons already being drawn between Shindou and the great Sakuma. Speculations to their neck-and-neck 'rivalry' with **Ask. **

"_Who will come out on top? Who will reign supreme?" _One article screams.

Who gives a damn

Usually, as we all know, these 'rivaries' are set up , nothing but trumped up stunts by the studio and publicists and the press in order to create publicity.

Yet Taki Aizawa took it seriously.

Why?

He could be the type that is easily threatened. But what was the tipping point?

Was Aizawa going to be dropped? Or was it Sakuma's endorsement or seeming preference towards Shindou over him?

Or was it a personal matter?

Was that why this blackmailing was targeted at Shindou alone, not at the other band members?

Or was Shindou just unlucky? Another case of names being all-too prophetic?

That hateful expression pops into my mind that I hear from time to time: If it weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at alI.

I wonder, what kind of luck this case and that overly emotional brat might bring me.

Isn't that what life is. The frenetic flight toward opportunities and the measurings of calculated risks collding head-long into blind chance. Usually culminating in unforeseen consequences. Or misfortune.

I think of the sounds of Shindou's crying again. That garish pink hair, the most eyesore of a color that this place has ever seen.

I re-read his lyrics.

They're terrible enough. I think, with the paper in my fist, why bother taking photographs. Somebody could blackmail him with these alone.

I start to get a headache.

Not only that, a sinking feeling in my gut.

Maybe it looking at this gossip garbage doesn't sit well with me. I feel irritated to even know of **Ask** and **Bad Luck's **existence.

But maybe its more than irritation.

Uneasily, I looked around myself.

My office looks terrible.

And the boy left his snotty tissue on my desk.

I throw it away.

Then I get in my ugly car, and go to Tohma's, to kill two birds with one stone.

Just in case I tear off the cover of the magazine with Aizawa on it and fold it, put it in my back pocket. I bring my safety knife and brass knuckles I keep in my glove box and put them in my front coat pocket to steel myself for whatever ahead. (And to feel more in control.)

When I get there, I side-step his perpetually flustered receptionist Sakano, who babbles something at me that sounds like I can't go in without an appointment or forewarning.

I don't listen. I bang on his office's door.

After two knocks he lets me in.

Instead of saying anything, I put a cigarette in my mouth.

"You are not allowed to smoke in my office Eiri." Tohma tells me patiently.

I light up anyways.

I need the grit, and warmth. Tohma's office is as freezing as it is pristine , a Freudian Masterpiece Theater. There's some sort of bronze abstract sculpture made of intersecting loops that looks like scrap mental in the corner, or the most inefficent and costly coat hanger ever. Piano classical music playing. Schubert A lifesized model of human brain with detachable lobes on his desk. Or maybe not a model- possibly the leavings of one of his uncooperative subjects.

I sit down on the dark barker leather chair.

"Now. Aren't you going to ask me about my childhood Tohma." I say.

"Have you finally come to me to discuss that subject Eiri?" Tohma stares at me tranquilly and clasps his hands behind his back.

Do I detect a glint of macabre eagerness in his eye. I think.

Or is it wariness.

"Have you been expecting it for so long?" I give him a dry look. " Isn't it a conflict of interest , to treat me as one of your patients?"

Tohma returns to his giant desk with his model-brain on it, and sits in his smart looking arm chair. He's the image of psychiatric propriety , in his black turtle neck and expensively tailored grey suit, leather Italian shoes neatly tied .

"You are not my patient. You are my brother-in-law, and for whatever reason, you're unwilling to see any of my other qualified referrals." Tohma laces his fingers in a similar tidy bow together on the desk.

"I'm unwilling to see you too usually."

"Yes." He instructs me. "It seems you're not unwilling to see me right now - and you needn't be so unwilling to confer with me, as I'm the closest thing to an impartial party you have . In truth, you should start seeing a separate party regularly. "

"But who else could I trust?" I say nonchalantly. " By that, who else would be as lenient with his prescription pad?"

Tohma bites his lip.

I mutter. "I need something today."

Like a good doctor, he pulls out his pad and pen from his drawer.

He scribbles a script for mood stabilizers. Or tranquilizers. Maybe something extra. The works.

He rips it off the pad with a flourish.

Tohma shoves the paper towards me like a verdict. A guilty one. "Your profession is not good for you Eiri."

"Is that your professional prognosis?" I say.

Tohma doesn't bother to reply . His face remains drawn.

"Yeah. I know. Thats why I chose it." I get up, take it from him.

I put the prescription in my pocket. (The one with the knife in it.)

"More than that, it is dangerous." Tohma begins his spiel. " Alienating. Physically straining and psychologically grueling- "

"Yes I'm well suited for it." I sneer. "And what else would I be, a romance writer?"

Tohma seems to think about it. " I would much rather prefer it. "

"And I'd prefer to eat glass then do what you do." I tell it to him straight. " Listening to wind-bag people ramble about themselves all day, as you steal their money by the hour."

Just to be an asshole, I tip over the tissue box on the coffee table near me with my finger.

Tohma stares back at me with cool bemusement.

I ask. " So. Hows Mika doing?"

He says unfazed. "You never ask me about Mika."

To fill you in, Mika Seguchi: Legendary keyboardist of **Nittle Grasper **and president, producer of NG. Cosmetic product, perfume, costume jewelry and other accessories and fashion mogul. Model. Owner/editor of the popular lifestyle _Mika_ magazine whereupon she's usually mugging on the cover.

And my older sister, bane of my life, bitch on wheels.

" I have no reason to,as I assume you take care of her." I mutter.

"Mika is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and she is out of town, travelling on business all week." Tohma reports.

" Is that so. I ask because I had one of her employees wander into my office this afternoon." I say to him." A Shuichi Shindou of the curiously named band **Bad Luck**. Ever heard of it? "

"I may have." He clears his throat.

"I find it hard to believe you haven't, given how your cousin Fujisaki Suguru plays keyboard in it."

Tohma falls silent.

"Tell me. " I ask. "How goes the record game? Keeping it all in the family again? "

"You know I don't directly concern myself with Mika's work. "Tohma says primly. " As for Fujisaki, indeed, he was available and the best qualified for the position."

"I'll be sure to congratulate him then when I see him- " I glower. "Or was it more that Mika did you and your family a favor. And in return , she got what?"

Tohma chides softly. "A favor? Returns? Marriage is rarely so simplistic and its innerworkings so tactical , and I am her husband, or do you not remember? Why do you not talk to her if you have questions about the various maneuverings of the music industry."

"Because I don't like to talk to her. " I admit.

" And why not talk about it, or is the pop business beneath you?" I glance at the ceiling. " And why shouldn't it be? You probably have goods grounds for your contempt. They're who compose your patient roster. As shrink to the stars, you're the repository for all their dirty secrets, and serve as their pill-mill, all so Mika can protect NG's assets. "

"I am not at liberty to discuss my methods or my patient roster." Tohma says serenely. " Although, as per the ethics and controls of my practice , I prescribe responsibly at my discretion."

"Sure you do." I gesture to the paper in my pocket. But then, I could gesture to everything in this office that would prove contrary to the statement he just made. " But I understand. You and I are in the business of discretion."

"Yet let us not forget." Tohma says with an air of quiet self-satisfaction and crosses his legs. "Our occupations are very different. "

"Yes, lets not forget it. You talk to people about their problems. Whileas I prefer the more hands-on approach." I smile. "In this instance, apparently, some rival band **Ask**'s lead singer Taki Aizawa is creating a problem for Shindou and therefore **Bad Luck**. You wouldn't know anything about that, now would you? "

Tohma writes something down on his little note pad , that he probably doodles on it. " You never discuss your cases with me Eiri."

"Yes. Like you, I have to keep my work confidential." I put my hands in my pockets. " But I thought you might like to know- as our interests may converge here You want to confer with me Tohma? This is your chance. We could pool resources. "

"Why would I wish to confer with you on that." The psychiatrist murmurs. " I have no interest in celebrity feuds. "

"Not even if your cousin might be involved and his future affected?"

"How will it affect Fujisaki? He is a talented and driven young man, and if anything should happen to the band he's currently in , Mika will simply place him in another group which will be just as if not more successful. His future is guaranteed. " Tohma puts down his onyx pen and pad face-down and gives me a pointed glance. " The better question is why is the fate of Shindou's career so important to you."

"Its not of interest to me either." I rise and pace the carpeted floor. " Shindou's just some punk, some damned brat who hired my services. But its a interesting coincidence isn it, all these non-degrees of non-separation."

"Yes but its not the coincidental aspects of this case that brought you here today asking me for an prescription. "Tohma frowns delicately.

He stands up.

He encircles me, roving around me, like a shark. Reading me like a poker player, gaze following me like a weakness seeking missle.

Tohma raises a listlessly merandering finger at me as he does so .

He murmurs. " Flat affect. Scattered thoughts. Difficulty sustaining eye-contact."

"..." I say nothing.

"What happened Eiri?" He asks calmly

I stare ahead

"Shindou showed me his lyrics. They were so... lame and awful. But for some reason, he cared about ... what I thought. " I frown. " Then ...he.. later broke down in my office. The damned brat seemed so pathetic...scared."

"And how did that make you feel?"

I glare at him. "Oh go to Hell. Thats how I feel."

"It upset you." Tohma's face softens. " You become defensive and agitated when you're upset."

I snap. "I don't get upset "

"I know for the fact you do." The other man says firmly. "And we both know what happened the last time you got upset."

Yes we do. I have the scars to prove it.

The older man offers forth his hand with a genteel gesture and affects his tone to gentle remonstrance. "May I offer you this pertinent insight Eiri, though I know you shall not listen to it."

Why bother then. I think.

"For whatever reason that I do not deign to conjecture about, you have found yourself personally invested in this person and already unable to be impartial. Before this case has even begun, you have already breached some of your unspoken rules of engagement."

"Why would I do that?"

Tohma raises a brow. " One might surmise you have empathized with this particular young man."

"One would surmise wrongly then. " I say. " Even so, is that so bad?"

He says. " It is, if you cannot handle this stressor or if it affects your judgement, or may cause you to be careless and is it not so that as a matter of policy, you do not take cases that you may get emotionally involved in?"

"Yes but how could I be involved? Its a job. " I grit." I ... barely know the guy."

"Yes. May I also remind you again, you do not know this young man at all?" Tohma clicks his tongue ." Therefore you have no responsibility to him. Its in your best interest that you pass this case up, if there is even the chance it may compromise your personal or emotional safety."

"I didn't come here for a psychological debriefing Tohma. And shouldn't I get a second opinion?" I leer.

Tohma looks at me tiredly, hand pressed on his chest with aristocratic dismay. With concerned displeasure. Also, disapproval.

" Anyways, its too late." I mutter. " Its already done. He's paid me. I took it. And I don't back out."

Tohma sighs.

He already knew that. But Tohma already knows why I'm here. Besides for meds.

He sighs again. " Eiri. You know I cannot ethically disclose to anyone who my patients are."

I assert. "So Aizawa is your patient."

"I cannot confirm that." Tohma says sternly.

"Ofcourse you can't. " I nod understandingly. "But if he hypothetically was seeing you, whats his deal? Do you think he's diagnosed? What's his psychiatric history? If there isn't any, what do you suspect? "

"Eiri-" Tohma says warningly.

"What I suspect? Given his profession, most likely Taki's a narcissist . Par for the course though right? Delusions of grandeur, and hyper-competitive which the studio no doubt encourages and exploits . Maybe our Taki has drug problems. According to the gossip mill, he has a temper too. " I take out the magazine cover I've ripped off with him on it.

A violent temper? I think: On the cover in my hand, Taki Aizawa is smirking, doing finger guns obnoxiously at the camera.

Not only that, I know he has a trigger finger behind the camera too, sticking it where it doesn't belong. Besides being a exhibitionist, someone with voyeuristic tendencies?

"Look at his grin. He looks like a asshole to me-" I say and point to his picture.

My own finger gun, pointing at my target.

Bang.

"Please." Tohma pinches at the bridge of his nose . " As I told you I legally cannot assist you in this inquiry, or I could lose my license. Why is it that you do not ever listen to me?"

"That depends Tohma. Why don't you ever say anything worth listening to?" I state irritably. "I came here and gave you a personal update and the pleasure of my company. Now what will you give me in return?"

Tohma merely looks at me. " Once again. I cannot provide what I am unable or not entitled to offer you."

So, the old contest of wills again.

But I don't have time or patience for it today.

"Alright. But if you won't talk , listen Tohma. Let me ask you a question that may be worthwhile to you. "I tell him factually. Now "I'm not a lawyer or a shrink. I only have a rudimentry grasp of the psychiatric care system from what little personal experience I have of it. But for the sake of argument, lets say one of your patients, a high profile one, came into your office and confessed to having... disturbed... criminal thoughts..."

Tohma's expression is still tense. "Having disturbed thoughts is not a crime Eiri.'

" Yes, but now you, as his psychiatrist have foreknowledge of his proclivities - and wouldn't you, the psychiatrist would be ethically obligated to exercise your powers to attempt to prevent these thoughts from coming to fruition, through- institutionalization, or filing it, and reporting to the authorities? Or maybe his being high-profile affected your prescribed treatment, you wanted to keep it hush- or maybe for whatever reason you weren't paying attention that moment - a busy man like yourself could have been easily distracted, or you didn't take it too seriously. Or maybe you even prescribed something that could exacerbate his problems or he abused recreationally. So if this patient did decide to act on those deviant desires in some ... criminal activity, doesn't that as his doctor, imply that there involves and implies some responsibility on your part ? And lets say this patient's activities were brought to light, there'd be an outcry of reckless endangerment, letting a unhinged individual roam the streets. It'd be a scandal that at the very least that would put you as his psychiatrist and your legitimacy under scrutiny- you might be subpoenaed, your confidentiality breached, your license revoked then. Or more than that, hasn't it been true in the past, if its been argued the psychiatrist could have possibly prevented the crime, he may even be found liable for his patient's actions in a court of law?"

I finish. "And think, what might the psychiatrist's image-conscious wife think of all this? "

Tohma looks up. His face bloodless as his knuckles.

"You haven't forgiven me haven't you Eiri."

"Now Tohma. Why should I hold a grudge." I say coldly. "You were only fulfilling your obligation there too, weren't you?"

I put my hands in my pocket. I feel the weight, the tactility of the weapons sittting in them.

Although I don't need them for this kind of death blow I want to inflict. They're too blunt, swift, not subtle enough.

"Although I don't think anyone else should have to pay for your mistakes again." I keep my eyes on his. "And I don't think we need to confer on that."

Tohma's stare back is icy enough to kill plants.

I hold my ground.

Finally my brother-in-law looks away.

And I notice: the pleasant piano music has since stopped.

"You know I am always available to talk to you whenever you need me- but I am sorry, I have a patient in my waiting room whose session is already being delayed by your impromptu visit" The older man speaks, pallor shaded and subdued. "But thank you for your time."

I go over and loom over him at his desk.

" Don't bother with the courtesies . Just tell me ." I demand. " Is it the bastard I'm looking for?"

"No. It isn't." Tohma stares back at me hard. "But do listen and remember Eiri. Sometimes when one is searching for a answer, all one needs is to do is remain still and wait. "

Ask. I think. And you shall recieve.

"Heh. " I smile at him. "I always wondered why you became a psychiatrist Tohma. When you would have been a far better strip tease."

Tohma closes his eyes and swallows. "Do show yourself out."

I do.

Before that , I hear Tohma tell me . "Eiri. Please be careful."

I disregard that last part.


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: This chapter features trigger or offensive subjects: discussion of mental illness and mental illness stigma, medication use, and acts of violence. If reading about these topics these are possible issues for you, please stop reading now.

Also a response to the reviews:

Dearest Bright Skies,

Thank you so much for your delightful and supportive reviews. Its so wonderful to hear from you and to know you're following and enjoying my writing. I'm very grateful to hear that, and I always will be. And thank you for saying that you felt the same emotion when you read this story to when you first read Gravitation, because I can still remember how I felt the first time I saw it, and how it affected me in an emotional place. Your thoughts are so appreciated and treasured, and your positivity is a big source of encouragement to me, especially since this story is so different, and quite a departure from my other fics. And I'm always so happy when I have you guessing and imagining what lies in store for Shuichi and Yuki, and the story ahead, and that Eiri sassing Tohma made you smile! And yes, I found the idea of Tohma as a psychiatrist pretty amusing too. I hope to update quicker for you in the future. And yes, happy reading and I hope to keep you excited and guessing and that you enjoy this chapter as much as the last two!

* * *

I take the back way out. The way Tohma's patients take because they don't want to be seen.

Which is fair.

Because we all know , regardless of what the so-called enlightened people feign with that patronizing support-group accepting attitude , that its not 'ok' to be 'not ok'.

Its a stigma to be mentally ill, to be a burden to one self, and to others or to 'society' (if you want to get that broad with it.)

It's an penance to be afflicted and to not be self- sufficient. (But are any of us self-sufficient? Who cares. ) To have to seek professional help and be medicated in order to withstand yourself and your life. These kind of aliments aren't something you proudly or neutrally wear like a name tag. It doesn' t confirm you like an alibi.

Like guilt, its a liability.

A private thing.

Its something that you try and hide but affects and shows itself in everything that you do and say. Or don't do or say.

The greater it's extremity, the more you have to hide it, like how you might have to conceal a crime you've committed.

Tohma's voice comes back to me like a bad dream. A unpleasant memory- which it already is. _"Having disturbed thoughts is not a crime Eiri."_

Fine then. Or how you might cover up an nasty scar. That works too.

Its something you have to pretend isn't there, while its crushing the sense out of you, and clobbers you until you're backed into a corner and curled up in it, and it wrings the life out of you like sludge out of a dirty dish rag, and lodges and chokes you in the back of your throat like a chunk of rotting flesh, and you find yourself rummaging through your dumpster of a mind for something decent and unaffected by it, like someone homeless might sift through broken bottles, used diapers, and moldy trash for something edible. Your gradual submission to that losing battle, spreading throughout you , in you, everywhere, like a friend that never deserts you.

It's kind of comforting that way. Its something you can rely on.

Not that I'm speaking from personal experience.

So disregard the prescription in my pocket.

Because for the time being, I'm going to.

I tell myself; I don't need meds.

Not these ones. Not this time. (Not yet anyways.)

They're just back up. Like my knife and my brass knuckles. They're there ,just incase.

Incase of what?

Like a mosquito buzzing noxiously in my ear: _"Your profession is not good for you Eiri... Alienating. Physical straining and psychologically grueling..."_

That may be so. But its how I make my living and I live with it. So, there won't be any " just in case." Not if I play it smart and don't let down my guard. Whatever's coming , I'm prepared for it.

I can handle it.

I've handled worse.

Like a taunting nagging echo in my head, I once again hear Tohma's annoyingly superior and gentle lilt . "_It upset you... You become defensive and agitated when you get upset... and we both know what happened the last time you got upset..._ "

Oh shut up the hell up Tohma. I think irritably.

Once again, my brother-in-law is wrong.

I'm not upset_._

That's the last thing I am.

Its this lousy weather.

It puts me in a mood.

_"You never discuss your cases with me Eiri."_

No. I never do. For that reason. Its presumption that bothers me. That's what it is.

The power of suggestion- when people are wrong, but are so convinced and arrogant in their incorrect assumptions that they feel the need to inflict on and about you.

So much so, they have to speak it aloud, sow their seeds in your mind, diffuse their insidious influence into you- like a drop of sweetened venom in a glass of water.

Sweet.

The word sticks with me for some reason.

Sweet. Its a word I haven't used or thought of in a long time.

Sweet.

I grimace with disgust.

Sweet like... Shindou's trifling cotton-candy pink hair.

Sweet like that simpering saccharine writing that he felt the need to palm off onto me.

Sweet like his crumpled up love song.

Which makes me wonder: Why would Shindou give it to me?

What the hell am I supposed to do with it?

What kind of guy gives a love song, something so personal to another man? To a stranger he just met? To a private detective he's hiring?

And what was the kid expecting in turn? A nice review? A compliment?

(And a better question: why did I re-read the song one more time in my office before going to Tohma's? )

_"One might surmise you have empathized with this particular young man."_

Now that's what gets me agitated and defensive.

Not crying pink haired pop singers with no talent and insufferable lyrics.

And me? Empathizing with that stupid idiot? That damned brat?

Tohma is clearly out of his mind.

He's the one who should taking pills. Not me.

And people will make their assumptions as they as do. I mean about the ill. As is their right. They see psychological affliction as the sign of a personal failing, the inevitable outcome to a damaging and immoral past, or a case of somebody losing out with their predetermined and inherited weaknesses.

Bad luck as they say.

Is it?

I wouldn't know.

Tohma's voice comes again to me in a silken tease. "_Flat affect. Scattered thoughts . Difficulty sustaining eye-contact."_

Damn you Seguchi. I inwardly seethe. You smug bastard.

My thoughts aren't scattered. And by saying I seemed 'flat' , by picking on the subject of Shindou,Tohma knowingly agitated me, and put me on the defensive. Manipulated me into making a 'emotional' confession- and that's even when I came in unannounced and he was supposedly unprepared for my 'impromptu' entrance.

Unless Tohma has always been lying in wait and preparing himself for me to come in. Which I prefer not to think about. Just as I prefer not to be emotional.

As for eye contact- I've seen corpses in frozen rivers with more humanity and warmth in them than those unblinking dead pools Tohma calls his eyes. (Don't ask me where ) Can you blame me if I don't want to look directly into them?

Eye contact (or any contact) with Seguchi always feels like a strip and search. A punishment.

As for Tohma, and what I said to his face, it's always a psychological strip tease. Not only with me, but with all his patients. And all of us to him are his patients or we're patients who just don't know it yet, his subjects to beheld, fiddled with, examined as per his elegant perusal. He handles someone's delicate psyche, like someone might nonchalantly lick their fingertip as they flip through a book while smoking a cigar. Or coolly and lightly blowing on your consciousness like a pair of hot dice. In his cold pert manner, Tohma gyrates, surveys and eludes you. There's an illusion of a relationship and of intimacy between you, when in truth its the epitome of use and alienation. He appears to be giving you everything, but you never really see or get anything of him. My brother-in-law presents himself as a balm and cure, when he's only a temporary subterfuge that will worsen the problem, or he's acquiring information from you for his ends , to gain more ownership and oversight over you. While he does, he skillfully reveals just enough to keep you coming back and wanting more and to keep paying him as he does it. (Disturbing image isn't it.)

_"Having disturbed thoughts is not a crime Eiri."_

But I have to hand it to him.

Tohma is damned good at what he does. Most of the time.

But I'm better at what I do. All the time.

( I've been so far. Whether you subscribe this to chance or strategy is up to you. )

My venturing into Tohma's office was strategic. It served my purposes. It may have been a grating pain in the ass, but it got the job done. By asking him for meds and by acting 'wrought up' , I fooled him. By making myself appear more 'open' and 'including him in my life, pretending as if what he says actually affects or assists me, I made Tohma feel as though he 'owed' me, or was in a higher position where he could 'help' me. That made him more willing to give me the information I needed. Without actually giving him anything of myself.

It was my own ploy and it worked. (Was it ?)

But I'm focused now. I have a job to do. Like the ones I've done before.

What I know now is to wait.

I know because I understand Tohma's little hints.I understand his hints because I understand Tohma. I understand the way he thinks. His soft power. His infuriatingly indirect ways. His delusional need to be in control, because I do, I let him think he is in control, and that he understands me when I'm the one who's playing him. I let him think he has the upper hand.

Does Tohma have the upper hand on me ?

Still?

I can't let myself think about that.

There are more pressing matters.

For once (and maybe for the last time), I willingly take Tohma's advice.

I wait outside by the elevators.

After about 50 minutes, somebody comes out.

Its not Taki Aizawa.

Nonetheless, he looks familar.

Its Ma-kun. Ask's side-man. The guitarist as I recall.

Thats as good as it going to get.

I get to work.

I tail him.

I follow Ma-kun down the Ginza mainstrip and then several side streets. Its Saturday. A pedestrian day. As you might recall from earlier, it was raining hard, but its since stopped. The streets are still slick and soggy under the grayish sky. Due to that, its not as crowded as it usually is on the weekends.

It might start raining again.

Ma-kun appears to be wandering aimlessly.

Occasionally, the man looks over his shoulder, like he already feels unsafe. Drifting in purposely crowded places with his phone in hand. Possibly wondering if he should call someone. The police? No, not the police. Someone else. But who? Ma-kun looks at his phone over and over, face constantly vacilating with dazed or panicked expressions.

From what I observe,( and Ma-kun's not easy to lose sight of with his bleached blonde hair and his abominable throw-back to Miami Vice white and pink suit) Ma-kun seems to be indecisive, skittish, easily led astray from the way he's walking. Difting one direction then stopping, and rushing down another. He rubs his arms anxiously and slows down to a halt, and lurches the opposite way, and the cycle begins all over again.

We're walking in circles. This goes on for a while.

It may go on indefinitely.

Our Ma-kun seems 'misdirected.'

Is he impressionable? Not too smart? Easily spooked and pushed around?

Its likely. If he lets someone like Taki Aizawa call the shots.

I realize that Tohma probably prepped Ma-kun for me too. Toyed with him the way only Tohma can. Coldly and methodically. With professional and skillful indifference. Tenderizing his state of mind like a piece of meat. As I said earlier: Tohma likes to talk to people about their problems . I myself prefer the more hands-on approach.

Good.

I smile.

I love it when they're scared.

Because when people are scared, they make mistakes.

Ma-kun makes his final mistake when he makes a sharp left instead of a right.

Its down a quiet street, with a lot of convenient small and dark alleys.

Just my luck.

Finally when I see we're the only two people there. I approach.

I say behind him. "Not interested in shopping Ma-kun"

Old simple trick. Say someone's name. By instinct (and not being too bright), Ma-kun automatically turns around to see who it is.

Ma-kun looks startled to see thats its me. ( But I get that a lot.)

I ask. "Are you Ma-kun of the band **Ask."**

He tries to assess if I'm a fan- or a journalist. I know I don't look like either.

"Uh. I might be. " Ma-kun's eyes are shifty, like his body language. Nearly in flight-mode. He has a unpleasant voice, like that of a bull-frog and a slimy complexion of an amphibian. "Uh. Who's asking."

I grab him by the shoulder. "I'm asking."

" Yeah?" Ma-kun stammers. "And uh... who the hell are you?!"

Instead of answering that ,I shove Ma-kun back into the brick wall in the closest alley before he can yell. We 're between a grocer and a "Japantique" shop. Across the road, they're selling decorative paper. There is a small high-end sushi bar near by, hidden away down one labyrinth alley past this one. I happen to know it because its one of Tohma's frequent hot- spots , one I can't afford. (Even if I could afford it, they wouldn't let me in there. Good for them.)I wonder if that where Ma-kun's final destination was, if he was going to distract himself from his current woes with a nice late lunch, console himself with some toro and ikura and sake.

Not anymore. How quickly our plans change.

I say: "I could nobody or I could be someone that makes your life a hell." I go for the hilt of my knife in my pocket."Don't move. I'm armed."

I show him the handle. As far as Ma-kun knows, I could have a gun. Showing him the hilt has the desired affect.

Ma-kun looks afraid.

Not only that- he looks guilty.

It could be a unspecific guilt, an guilt caused by a long misbegotten deed in his childhood, or a guilt by association. While I don't know the cause , I recognize the look. I see it all the time- in the faces of so many people you wouldn't expect. Its the face that tells you he knows something he shouldn't. A face that says he has something to hide.

But don't we all.

" What do you want?!" Ma-kun yelps. "Are you mugging me? I uh- got money- "

"No." I say calmly. If only life were that simple. If only we were both fortunate enough to have such a brief and concise exchange. "I want your friend Aizawa. "

"He's...not my friend!" The other man gulps with a frog's ribbit. " W-What do you want with him?"

"We both know what I want. You've been recently involved with some things, haven't you Ma-kun? Keeping yourself busy with some disturbing business with your bandmate and your other pop star contemporaries. Is that why you're at the shrink? Did he help you with your psychological problems today?" I inquire in a low concerned voice.

" ...H-Have... you been ...following... me?" Ma-kun cowers back into the wall.

"But what else have you been up to lately Ma-kun. Why don't we catch up."I smile at him ."They say a picture says a thousands words. You must have a lot to tell me. Or maybe you're picking up some photography lessons on the side? Some very revealing photography? "

The blonde man croaks. "...You... you- know about that...?"

I let my charming smile drop. Slowly, threateningly.

"You've seen them- but how? He -only showed us the roll... and nobody else- " Ma-kun chatters. "Uh ! And I don't even know who you are! Listen- If you're in on it... in some way, you go ask Taki for your payout. Not me! "

"I'm not looking for a payout. " I say.

"Then what do you want?!" Ma-kun shakes his head frantically. "I uh- just don't want to be involved-"

"You cooperate and give me Taki." I tell him stonefaced. " You do that, I promise nothing will happen to you. But if you don't, I can't guarantee you anything."

Ma-kun sweats profusely, trembling. "I can't... I can't.. If you're a cop, its not my fault-I didn't have anything to do with uh... that okay?! It was all Taki's idea, yeah it was, now and again, he would mouth off some... crazy things but- I didn't know Taki would go through with uh- something like that! And to take pictures of it?! He even bragged about it- like he was proud ! The guy's out of his mind, he's crazy! I'm scared of him too- he's uh- threatened me -"

"I understand that, but I can be a lot worse." I say agreeably.

Ma-kun chatters . " Please-please, please, I'll do whatever you want. Please! I'll uh- cooperate. Just don't arrest me -"

" You'll cooperate" I nod. " but I'm not a cop."

Everyone lies to cops, but people don't lie to me. Not if I can help it.

"Then who are you ?! " Ma-kun wails.

I smack Ma-kun across the face. "I ask the questions."

Ma-kun gapes in shock and clutches at his cheek . " Jesus Christ ! You just... hit me!"

"Thats the general idea." I say impatiently. "And it will only get worse for you from here."

Ma-kun then tries to run but he's not fast. He's an inefficent runner, a zig-zagger and the type that won't attempt to fight back either.

I grab him by his blonde roots and slam his head into the brick wall.

Ma-kun shrieks with pain

"Not smart Ma-kun. Don't run. You know I'm armed so don't test me. Where are the photos." I slam his head into the water-streaked brick.

My other hand is gripped on his wrist. I wrench it behind his back.

"OW! I don't know!" Ma-kun struggles agianst me.

I jerk and twist his wrist again.

" OW! OW! OW!" He whines, nearly jumping up and down with pain with each twist ." They're with Taki! He keeps them!"

I growl into his ear. "Then where's Taki?"

Ma-kun babbles. "I don't know! I haven't seen him for a few days-"

From that, we now know Ma-kun is a liar. Not a good one either.

But not many people are.

The pictures were taken a day and a half ago. He already confessed to seeing the roll. Two reasons Ma-kun's lying: ethier he wants to protect Taki or he knows more, and wants to protect himself. Both are probably true.

Based on those probabilities, I slam his head into the brick again.

"Lets try this again. " I grit. "Where is Taki? Where can I find him? "

"I don't know! I swear! Goddamnit, please leave me alone! I didn't want to be any part of it, I never did- so help me God! " The blonde man bawls.

"Like I said. You give me Taki and I'll leave you alone." I announce (a half truth) " Or if you choose not to talk willingly, then you have some options left- I'll have two ways prying your mouth open- ethier painfully or very painfully."

Ma-kun starts to sob a little.

" But don't worry Ma-kun. " I assure him softly. "Nobody ever died of a little pain- "

Ma-kun interupts me. "Uh! No no no- If I knew I'd tell you but I don't know where he is!"

"Then call him. Get him for me." I demand. "Tell Taki to meet you."

"No, no, don't, don't make me see him- please, leave me out of this- whatever you think I did, I'm innocent- I'm being set up, you gotta believe me- you gotta believe me-" Ma-kun snivels.

Innocent of what I wonder.

But I don't have to believe anything. So instead of believing him, I let him go and kick him in the back of the knees.

Ma-kun falls to his knees in a puddle in some errant cigarette butts and with some colorful sounding language.

"This isn't the time to make requests." I say and kick him again, just to get the point across. I'm not feeling obliging. Today has already been stressful. "You call Taki right now."

Ma-kun groans and warbles, doubled up from where he is on the ground. "Ugh. And tell him what?!"

" I don't care. Tell him to meet for an impromptu jam session. No- " I change my mind. From what I know, Taki Aizawa is a gloater, a braggart. He likes to be flattered and to dwell on his successes. He likes women. Use what you know against him. Get him off his guard.

I instruct Ma-kun. " Tell him what you think he did- was smart. That you like it, you want to celebrate over it and reward him over what he did -with some exotic entertainment. Tell him to bring the pictures along with him because you want to see them again, just you and him."

"God no, I'm not going to say that!" Ma-kun cries up at me.

I raise my foot again

Ma-kun flinches . "Ok! OK! Don'! Don't- don't hit me anymore- I'll do it. I'll do it. "


End file.
